“Haruyuki Arita, student No: 460017, grade eight, class C: As soon as you arrive at school, report to the counseling office on the first floor of the general classroom wing.
—Koji Sugeno, class C homeroom teacher”
His heart stopped for a second. He wondered if Nomi had actually turned the video in to the school authorities. However, he quickly noticed that the message had been sent by his homeroom teacher. If Sugeno had such clear evidence as the video, the whole thing would be way beyond the level of a teacher interview; the administration would definitely be brought in. Sugeno was probably calling him in now based on his own personal hunch.
As Haruyuki tried to guess at what awaited him, he passed the stairs to his classroom, clenched hands drenched in a cold sweat, and headed toward the counseling office on the first floor of the building. As he did, he opened the local net’s student database in a browser window and searched for something along the lines of “manual for when the teacher calls you to his office” as a kind of last-ditch effort.
And it turned out, there had been an article on that very subject in the school paper a few years earlier, which Haruyuki read, dumbfounded and grateful.
When he arrived in front of the counseling office, he quickly checked that there were no other students in the hallway around him, in line with the first part of the manual. He then took a deep breath in front of the gray door and pressed the entry button displayed in his vision. The system authenticated him, and the lock opened with a clack.
He opened the—not automatic, of course—door and looked inside to see that Sugeno was already there in the somewhat small room. He was sitting at a chair by the window at a long desk, with his arms crossed in front of his chest, as if to show off their thickness.
“You’re here? Come in.” The welcome from the young Japanese instructor was not very friendly.
Resisting the urge to just shut the door again, Haruyuki cautiously stepped into the room and greeted his teacher with an indistinct “Good morning.”
Sugeno sighed almost complainingly, but perhaps rethinking his approach, he closed his mouth and started over. “Good morning. Sit down here.”
Unable to say, No, I’m fine standing, he had no choice but to obey and take the seat indicated, a mere chair length away from Sugeno.
“Arita.” A single wrinkle carved deep into his suntanned face, his teacher turned a gaze on him that was more than looking but not quite glaring, and then abruptly and finally pulled the corners of his mouth up. “The truth is, I might look like this now, but back when I was in school, I wasn’t popular at all with the girls.”
“Huh…?”
“It’s true. I was on the judo team, see? I used to be so jealous of the guys on the soccer team. They had one girlfriend after another.”
He stared in mute amazement as Sugeno nodded in agreement with himself. What he just said is totally not okay in at least four different ways, he muttered in his head. I mean, he’s saying he looks hot now, no one in judo can get a girlfriend, everyone in soccer is a playboy, and on top of that, he’s assuming girls don’t like me.
Even as he mentally added that he did have to concede that last point, Sugeno continued his monologue.
“Which is why I understand that sometimes, things get to be too much for a boy your age, Arita. I completely get it…Say, Arita?” Here the teacher called up a “you leave everything to me” kind of nuance in the vicinity of his thick eyebrows and nodded deeply. “If there’s anything you want to tell me, anything you need to tell me, you can go on and do that right now, right here. I promise I’m on your side, Arita. How about it?”
“……” Further stupefied, Haruyuki simply stared at the man’s face for several seconds. Finally, he somehow managed to collect his thoughts enough to form words. “Uh, um.”
“Oh! What is it? You can tell me anything!”
“Uhh…Before I say anything, I’d like to record this conversation.” Number two in the manual was to make sure you record, but the instant the words had left his mouth, Haruyuki seriously regretted having said anything.
Sugeno’s eyes popped open, and his face—from neck to cheeks to hairline—turned red. When the trusty older-brother expression on his face finally peeled off and dropped away, Haruyuki could practically hear the thud of it on the floor.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Arita?! Are you saying you don’t trust your teacher?!” his now-menacing mentor shouted, eyebrows leaping up, and Haruyuki shrank with a yelp.
But there was no retreating. “No, it’s got nothing to do with trusting anyone,” he mumbled. “It’s just that a student has the legal right to record a one-on-one interview with a teacher.”
“What legal?! What right?!” Sugeno cried out in a voice that was a little inappropriate for a teacher, and slammed his hand down on the long desk. “Don’t you understand that I’m talking to you now for your own benefit?! The longer this goes on, the worse things are going to be for you! Right now, there’s still a chance of keeping the police out—”
Cutting him off midsentence was Haruyuki fiddling with his virtual desktop to activate Record mode, in complete desperation. Since he didn’t work for the school paper, he needed his interlocutor’s consent to record their conversation. In Sugeno’s field of vision at that moment, there would be a button asking him to give permission to be recorded. If he pressed NO now, the log would record that he had rejected a legitimate request. Sugeno glared at a point in space, seething with indignation, but in the end, he lifted a finger and stabbed at the air.
In Haruyuki’s field of view, the REC icon began blinking, accompanied by a message that recording had begun. He did not, however, have anywhere close to the nerve required to smirk at this, so he shrank intently into himself as Sugeno began to speak again.
“Arita, tell me one thing…please.” Sugeno’s voice was harder now, and quieter. “On the fourteenth, a Sunday, why would a guy like— Why did you come to school, when you’re not in any clubs or teams?”
Seems like recording the conversation is more effective than I expected.
“To see my friend on the kendo team,” Haruyuki answered immediately, albeit faintly, and Sugeno held his tongue. He had to know that Takumu (in kendo) and Haruyuki were friends, and the fact that Takumu had come to school on Sunday was registered in the local net. And the original reason Haruyuki had come to school that day was in fact to talk to Takumu.
But Sugeno doubled down, temples twitching. “Was it really just that? Can you tell me you had absolutely no other reason? Look into my eyes and answer me.”
He’s probably not a bad guy, Haruyuki thought. Although I don’t think we’re going to reach any understanding here. He looked up into Sugeno’s icy eyes. “It was really just that. I can tell you that.”
After letting out a long sigh that sounded like a large cooling fan, Sugeno said, “Okay, understood. In that case, you can go.”
Haruyuki quickly stood up. “Yes, Mr. Sugeno!” he said, his voice the loudest it had been since he entered the room. He covered the short distance to the door, opened it the barest minimum required, and slipped out.
Having fled to the hallway, he took the deepest breath he was capable of before turning off record mode and checking that the sound file was properly saved as he trotted toward his classroom. As long as nothing new came out, the recording was basically public acknowledgment of his innocence. That said, this little exchange had probably seriously soured Sugeno on him. There was not a single advantage in making an enemy of a teacher, and it wasn’t the sort of thing Haruyuki liked to do, but confessing to being behind the secret camera just to keep Sugeno happy, when he hadn’t done anything, was obviously out of the question.
Still, Haruyuki thought as he climbed the stairs. This trap Nomi set, even if he doesn’t use that fatal video, it looks like it’s having a sort of seeping effect, like a weak poison. Because Nomi actually courted that danger and really hid a small camera in there.
As a result, there actually had been
an attempt to record secret video in the girls’ shower room, and Haruyuki had ended up the prime suspect, coming as he had to school on a Sunday, even though he was not on any teams. Had Nomi seen this far ahead? No, impossible.
Shaking his head, Haruyuki opened the door to his classroom a minute before the first bell. Instantly, he got the sense that something wasn’t right. It seemed like the chatter filling the classroom dropped in volume for the briefest moment.
“……?” He looked around, but it was already the same old morning classroom again. He wove his way through the students in groups of twos and threes, chatting animatedly about net shows and sports, and sat down at his own desk.
He hung his bag on the hook on his desk, and as he breathed a little sigh, the VOICE CALL icon began flashing in the middle of his field of view. The caller was…Takumu. Haruyuki resisted the urge to turn around and look at him sitting toward the back of the class and pressed the icon.
“Haru, we got trouble.”
At this abrupt opening, Haruyuki very nearly opened his mouth to speak, but caught himself and replied in neurospeak. “Huh? Wh-what’s up, out of the blue?”
“There’s this weird rumor going around. About you.”
The call was abruptly cut off. At the same time, a light chiming sounded in his ears. The bell ringing, which meant any real-time communication between students was now prohibited. The next time it would be possible to call would be lunch break. As an exception to this rule, he could send a text mail, but exchanges not directly related to classes were forbidden by the school regulations.
He thought he might just stand up and go over to Takumu to hear the rest directly, but then the front door opened, and Sugeno came in, so he was forced to abandon the idea. Although he really wanted to know the rest of the story, if it was something that simply had to be communicated to him right then and there, they could always talk in an accelerated duel. If Takumu didn’t take it that far himself, then it wouldn’t be a huge mistake to wait until the next break.
Having determined this, Haruyuki stood up with the other students and bowed to the teacher without meeting his eyes.
But immediately after that class was over, two boys came to stand in front of his desk as he raised a finger to mail Takumu. Reflexively stiffening, he lifted his face. Both were in his class, but he only remembered the name of the boy on the right. He was pretty sure it was Ishio and that he was a starting player on the boys’ basketball team.
“Arita,” Ishio said, jerking to the left the very adult-looking head he had sitting on a body so tall—it was hard to believe he was the same age as Haruyuki. “Sorry to bug you, but you got a minute?”
Before he knew it, the entire class had fallen silent. But this silence didn’t have any sense of surprise to it. Rather, there was an air of approval, as if his classmates had even been expecting this scene.
Ishio turned toward the frozen Haruyuki, who was unable to grasp what was happening, and continued in a low voice that was nearly through the awkward breaking period. “I don’t want to have an ugly conversation right here. And I know you don’t, either, right, Arita?”
Haruyuki felt his stomach tighten abruptly. Ugly conversation. Hearing those words, only one thing leapt to mind. The secret video. Which meant that Ishio here and the boy next to him—no, everyone in class—had, without him even being aware of it, become deeply convinced that Haruyuki was the perpetrator of the whole thing.
“Ah…I—I…,” Haruyuki muttered hoarsely. He groped for a lifeboat of some kind, and his eyes moved to the seat diagonally in front of him—Chiyuri.
His childhood friend was sitting there, head hanging low, eyes pinched shut, fists clenched tightly on her desk as though she were trying to endure something.
Despite the crisis he was facing, the instant he saw her, he thought, Right now, the one making Chiyuri suffer is me, not Nomi. My stupidity got us into this. If I act all pathetic right here, it’s just going to make this harder for Chiyuri. So the least I can do is be strong now. Even if it is just pretend.
He took a deep breath and stood up, chair clattering. “Sure, let’s go,” he replied briefly, and one of Ishio’s eyebrows jumped up. But he nodded, expression unchanging, and began to walk. The other boy followed, almost like Haruyuki was a prisoner with an escort.
He saw a student standing slowly in the back of the classroom. Takumu. His friend, rivaling Ishio in height, narrowed his sharp eyes behind his glasses and went to take a step. Haruyuki stopped him with his right hand and shook his head shortly.
I’m okay. I can get through this by myself.
They weren’t on a voice call, so Takumu couldn’t actually hear these words, but even so, he gritted his teeth and took his seat again. The sound of Ishio yanking open the door echoed loudly in the silent classroom.
They brought him to a place Haruyuki was intimately familiar with—the western edge of the roof. Given that first period had only just ended, there were no other students up there. When he was in seventh grade, Haruyuki had been forced to deliver bread and juice to some delinquent students in this place basically every day. Vivid memories of that time springing to life in his mind, Haruyuki started to head for the shadow of the antenna tower, the set location for any kind of bullying.
But Ishio stopped him. “Here’s good.”
“But this is still in view of the social cameras, you know,” he replied, blinking hard.
“I don’t care,” Ishio spat. He shoved both hands into the pockets of his uniform and leaned back against the high steel railing before continuing. “Arita, you got called in by Sugeno, yeah?”
I knew it. The whole class already knows about it. So this is the “weird rumor” Taku called about. I was trying to be careful, but some other student must have seen me going into the counselor’s office. But still, news of that has gotten around pretty fast. Almost like someone was deliberately spreading the rumor…
And then Haruyuki reminded himself that now was not the time for thinking outside thoughts, and he stared at Ishio and the other boy standing a little way off before nodding slightly. “Yeah.”
“So then it was you? The one who put the camera in the girls’ shower room?”
“No!” This time, his reply was immediate.
Ishio looked down on Haruyuki shaking his head and simply rubbed a hand over hair so short it was practically shaved.
“Well.” The other boy spoke for the first time. “You can’t exactly say, ‘I sure did,’ can you? But, look, I just don’t think the school’s gonna be calling a student in with no evidence. I mean, if it goes badly, they’d have a complaint against them instead.”
It’s just that hothead Sugeno! I mean, he actually got mad about rights and the law and whatever! He could insist on his innocence all he wanted, but he knew they wouldn’t believe him, so his best option was to keep his mouth shut.
Ishio then took one, two steps to approach Haruyuki. “You got released after getting called in, so I guess they suspect you but don’t have any proof?” he said in a near-whisper. “But here’s the thing, I can’t just let it go because there’s no proof.” Ishio suddenly grabbed Haruyuki’s tie with his left hand and yanked him in. Haruyuki got a close-up taste of the other boy’s rage-filled eyes. “Listen. My girlfriend was in the shower room when they found that camera. The whole thing hit her really hard. She was out from school yesterday and again today!”
At this point, Ishio’s behavior was a clear violation of school regulations. But the starting player for the basketball team brushed off the other boy, who tried to stop him, and brandished his right fist in a showy manner. “There’s no way I can let this go, Arita. I have to do this, no chooooiiiice!!” He thrust his fist forward awkwardly.
Haruyuki probably could have dodged the blow. Ishio’s fist was clumsy and couldn’t begin to compare with the punches from the students who used to bully Haruyuki, boys well acquainted with fighting. He could even go a step further—if he used the “physical burst” command to ac
celerate physically, maybe he could turn the tables and beat the taller boy instead. As it was, Ishio’s face was twisted up into what amounted to a confession that he had never hit anyone before.
But, of course, Haruyuki did not dodge or retaliate, but simply took the punch to his left cheek. Winning a fight with the power of acceleration was the lowest of the low, even if it wasn’t against the rules of the Black Legion. He heard a sharp crack, and for all its awkwardness, Ishio’s fist made an impact that pushed Haruyuki’s body back a few steps.
The Haruyuki of six months earlier maybe would have broken at this point and sniveled an apology. But he stopped after those few staggered steps and glared at Ishio as he felt the hot throbbing in his cheek. “I don’t care how many times I have to say it,” he shouted. “I didn’t do it!!”
Ishio clenched his teeth and made another fist, but at last, he relaxed his hand. “If you can prove that,” he replied, “you can hit me as many times as you want. But”—the basketball player with the shaved head thrust out a finger this time, rather than a fist, and declared crisply—“if it turns out you did do it, I’ll smash that Neurolinker of yours and make it so you can’t look at any images or videos or anything.”
And then he whirled around and took long strides toward the stairs, rubbing his right hand with his left as if trying to wipe away the lingering sensation. The other boy followed suit, and Haruyuki was left alone on the roof.
This little bit of theater had to have been clearly recorded by several social cameras. If Haruyuki lodged a complaint about having been hit, regardless of the circumstances, Ishio would at the very least be suspended and probably lose his spot on the basketball team’s starting lineup.
But, of course, Haruyuki had no intention of doing that. Ishio was just another person who’d gotten dragged into this mess. Into this lightless, heatless nihilistic vortex that the cruel villain Seiji Nomi had created.
Running a hand over his left cheek to check that he wasn’t bleeding, Haruyuki trudged toward the stairs. As he walked, he opened his mail app and typed a short message to Takumu.